by Alex P. Berg
“Hey, check this out.” I pulled out the slip and held it to the light. In the middle of the card, my eyes found a familiar image—a neuron superimposed over a beaming, white-hot sun.
“Another Veesnu cardslip,” said Carl, walking over.
I tapped the slip against my chin in thought. “So, Valerie did send us to the spaceport, but why do so in such a roundabout fashion? And why does she want us to go up there again? What’s so special about that chapel, other than those delectable waffles?”
Nice try, hotshot, but you’re a little off, said Paige. I blocked the obligatory Veesnu bible from downloading to your Brain, but check out what else is on there.
As before, a translucent hologram filled my field of vision upon Paige’s activation of the slip. The same shiny Dirax, complete with crossing teal and navy sashes on its carapace, stood in front of a burning star while floating, neuron-like blobs swirled above and below and behind. The alien spread its pincers and delivered the same subvocal spiel as before. As it prated on about the One Knowledge and Truth and the Ascension, I wondered why in the world Paige was making me sit through the sermon again.
Wait for it, she said.
If she hadn’t warned me to be on the lookout, I would’ve missed it. At the conclusion of its speech, the address at the bottom of the hologram was different. This time it read: 13479 Rue de Camp, Knottington, Pylon Alpha.
The hologram cut out. I tsked and shook my head. “Why are the pretty ones always liars?”
Carl tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“Valerie. She said this would explain things.” I held up the slip. “But I’m as confused as ever.”
“Well, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say the Veesnu religion plays a part in this somehow.”
“It’s keen deductive insights like that that keep you off silverware polishing detail,” I said with a raised eyebrow. “But why is Valerie pointing us to a new chapel in Knottington, of all places? That’s over in the industrial park near the RAAI Corp manufactory and the local GenBorn headquarters. I get that Valerie’s looking for something, some meaning or purpose in her life besides what she derives from baking, but couldn’t she have found it in a chapel nearer to her house?”
Not necessarily, said Paige. A quick check shows only five Veesnu chapels in and around Pylon Alpha, including the one on the spaceport. There’s one slightly closer than the Knottington location, but not by much. It’s a difference of perhaps five minutes, given typical traffic conditions.
“I meant you can get your fill of crazy in a wide flavor of religions,” I said. “What makes Veesnu so special?”
You want the short version or the long version? asked Paige.
“It was more of a rhetorical question,” I said. “If I cared that much, I’d read their bible.”
“That could be a useful activity, you know,” said Carl, “seeing as this is the second time the religion has reared its head in our case.”
I grimaced. “Um, yeah. I have a hard enough time getting through boring novels. You think I’ll make it through a Veesnu bible without falling asleep two minutes in?”
“On the other hand, I hear Knottington is lovely this time of year,” said Carl.
I smiled. “Now you’re talking my language. Let’s go.”
18
Despite my protests, Paige attempted to give me a crash course in Veesnu during our tube trip and subsequent cab ride, but my brain simply wasn’t attuned to the religion’s esoteric doctrines. After the third stripped-down explanation of the Ascension, its basis in Diraxi culture, and its possible metaphysical connotations, Paige and I agreed it might be better for me to approach the next stop in our liquor-free bar crawl with an open mind. So I spent the rest of the trip deep in thought—or at least as deep as I could get with the ever-present temptation of Brain games.
After a few games of Smashblocks in which I barely scored a billion points, I called it quits. My mind wasn’t in it. Carl, gazing out the cab window with a vacant stare, looked how I felt.
“Still thinking about Valerie’s motivations?” I asked.
He turned his eyes to the cab interior. “Yes. Among other things.”
“Such as?”
“The other parties involved in this situation,” he said. “As much as Valerie’s wishes and motivations concern me—and I do believe those, more than anything, are at the heart of our case—we can’t ignore that, even if she set us up during her initial exposé, someone else is involved. She didn’t toss her own apartment into a state of disarray. I’m increasingly sure of that.”
I wanted to add a clever insight to Carl’s musings, but I didn’t have any, so I kept my mouth shut and cast my eyes to the skies. Tau Ceti hovered at the horizon, painting the heavens in lovely shades of plum, ginger and lemon. Above and to the east, the solar reflectors caught the fading rays of sunshine, winking into existence like a slew of small moons evenly spaced throughout the sky.
Our cab zipped onto False Cross before merging onto Rue de Camp. As the street numbers ticked north, condo high-rises gave way to sprawling manufacturing complexes, including the two-kilometer long local fabrication arm of RAAI Corp’s droid business. Eventually, as we approached a small strip mall populated by burrito joints and ethnic alien eateries, our cab slid to a halt.
The Veesnu chapel, though substantially larger than the one we’d visited at the spaceport, wasn’t particularly church-like. No tall spires or turrets graced its rooftop. No elaborate carvings hand-chiseled by a child prodigy faced the street, nor did holoprojectors stream vids of revivals into the air above. If anything, the building resembled an oversized shipping container, and it sparkled with roughly the same amount of artistic flair. I wouldn’t have recognized it if not for the projected sign featuring the now-familiar sun and neuron combination that hovered over the front.
“So, what’s our play?” asked Carl as we exited the cab.
“What do you mean?” I said. “I figured I’d walk in and ask about Val.”
Carl emitted a soft humming sound and curled his lips.
“Bad idea?” I said.
“What if they’re involved in the case? Miss Meeks claimed Diraxi were after her. Being direct could divulge more information than we want.”
I sucked on my lips and nodded. “Hm. Good thinking. Alright, new plan. You go in.”
“Me?”
“No, the other Carl. Yes, you. Go in and ask about Valerie.”
“I’m not sure you understand the crux of my argument,” said Carl. “That’ll still tip them off.”
“It’ll tip them off about you,” I said, “but not about me. If they tighten their lips, I’ll wait a while and follow you in with a new gambit.”
Because of his base layer of programming predisposing him to being compassionate toward humans, Carl rarely looked surly, but this time he got pretty close. He turned and stomped into the building.
I glanced at the strip mall while I waited for Carl to return. The burrito joint I’d spotted was a chain affair, an Arabic-Mexican combo franchise by the name of Hallal-peños. Next to it stood an Asian-Tak fusion restaurant, which I assumed was a vegetarian place based on the traditional Tak diet of roughage, roughage, and more roughage. I even spotted a Diraxi place by the name of Hive Mind, Body, and Soul. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of hellacious mix of grubs and protein strands graced the establishment’s menu—but then again, maybe the place just served waffles.
I played with my fingernails as I waited. “Paige, how’s Carl doing?”
You want the live feed, or the condensed version? she asked.
“Option two please,” I said. “Seeing life through someone else’s eyes tends to bring on a sensation of vertigo. And sometimes vomiting.”
Very well, my digital gatekeeper said. There’s a chaplain manning the front of the house. Carl asked about your enchanting lady friend with the memory problems. The chaplain said he didn’t know anything about that.
I grunted. “Is that it?”
Do you remember what I told you about the Ascension?
“Remember? Yes,” I said. “Understand? No.”
Well the chaplain is giving Carl a spiel about the process, and informing him that since he bypassed the organic Synthesis, he’s ineligible for salvation. He’s an affront to nature.
“And Carl’s just standing there taking it?” I asked.
It’s Carl. Of course he is, said Paige. But he has his reasons. He’s trying to keep the guy talking, hoping something useful might transmit out of his antennae.
I twiddled my thumbs and chewed on my lip. It wasn’t long until my sharp-featured inorganic pal returned.
“You’re looking haggard,” I said.
Carl glanced at his outfit. “I am?”
“It’s an expression. Paige filled me in. How are you holding up?”
Carl shrugged. “The universe is full of bigots. Some of them happen to be overflowing with religious zeal. It’s nothing new to me.”
“You take it better than I would, that’s for sure,” I said. “If someone told me I was an affront to the gods, I might show them the prodigious ass-kicking skills my gods graced me with.”
Carl snorted and smiled. “Perhaps it’s best I went in first, after all.”
“So, get anything useful?” I asked.
“Depends. How interested are you in the Ascension?”
I waved Carl off. “I have a feeling I’m going to be exposed to that myself soon enough. I don’t need it from you, too. Why don’t you drag yourself over to one of those eateries at the mall while I take my turn at the chaplain?”
“You have a plan?” asked Carl.
“Of course I do. Paige’ll stream you the action as I go.” I turned to head into the cube-shaped place of worship.
“You can always ping me if you need any help,” said Carl.
I paused in mid-step. “I know.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Rich.”
I set my gaze on Carl and adopted my best stern matron face.
“Just thought it needed to be said, that’s all.” With more than a little hesitation, he headed off toward the outdoor mall.
I entered the chapel and found myself in a cylindrical entryway that felt tight at the shoulders. Any smaller and I might be able to throw a hook with my left elbow and hit myself in the right temple. A Dirax—tall, shiny, and dark, wearing a pair of crisscrossed sashes across its carapace—stood at a makeshift podium in front of a trio of hallways.
Welcome, Pilgrim, the thoughts appeared in my mind. Bask in the splendor of Veesnu. How can I assist? The Dirax spread its pincer arms in supplication.
Splendor? If the entryway were any more austere, they’d have to strip the walls off, but I kept my mouth shut. Insulting the Dirax’s digs wouldn’t help ingratiate me with him. Instead, I played the part of a dumb mark.
“Hi. I’m, uh…Rich. This is a church, right? Veesnu, it’s called?”
Your language is imprecise, human, but not fully incorrect. We are practitioners of the One Truth, Veesnu. This structure is physical rather than metaphysical, but it is our conduit to the Knowledge and the Ascension, our Portal to Truth. Welcome.
“Um, thanks,” I said as I scratched my neck. “Look, I’m…not sure why I’m here, to be honest. I’ve just…been going through some things, lately. And I’m a little confused, you know? Like about—”
Existence? Purpose? Motive? You seek Knowledge. You seek the One Truth.
“Well, I don’t know about the last part, but yeah. There’s a friend of mine who was going through similar emotions. They gave me this.” I pulled out the cardslip. “So I figured, why not? I’d come see what you guys had to offer.”
The Dirax spread its pincer arms out even farther and tucked in its head. Veesnu envelops you, Pilgrim. The One Truth awaits. Although your friend’s temporal sense is not yet fully aligned with the cosmos.
“Excuse me?”
One of our sermons recently began. You are late. But I suppose I could let you join it in progress. Please, come with me.
The Dirax turned and walked off down the hallway behind it. I glanced into the halls to my left and right as I followed. The left contained nothing of note—just a few closed doors and a whole lot of empty space—but farther down the right hallway I spotted a bald, glassy-eyed male human, roughly my height, in a flowing navy blue robe. He glanced vacantly in my direction before disappearing into a doorway.
The Dirax stopped in front of a lift. It flicked its antennae and the down signal lit up. I waited patiently at its side.
“So your chapel is downstairs?” I asked.
The Dirax clicked its pincers. I do not understand the query. The cosmos enfolds us, surrounds us. The practice of Veesnu is not spatially dependant.
“Sorry. I simply meant, if your place of worship is below ground, what’s the rest of this place for?”
Rooms for study. Contemplation. Quarters for us, and the disciples. Space to manifest the Ascension.
“Disciples?” I asked.
Practitioners of Veesnu. Seekers of the One Truth. Those whose journey into the metaphysical has brought them close to the Ascension.
“Like that guy in the navy robe I saw as we walked in?”
Correct.
The lift dinged, and the doors slid open with a puff. I entered the elevator, keenly aware of the Dirax’s size.
“And, um, this ascension you keep talking about… What’s involved in that?”
It is a journey of the mind. A physical, spiritual, and psychological test, one meant to free the psyche from the limits of the self and enter the ultimate, timeless expanse of the cosmos.
Sounds like a blast, huh? said Paige.
I ignored her. “And is this difficult?”
Extremely.
The lift stopped and the door opened. The Dirax held out a pincer. We exited and I followed the insectoid creature down a dimly lit hall to a closed door, which flicked open halfway as we approached. Darkness within loomed, thick and dense.
The sermon has begun. Enter, Pilgrim, and welcome Veesnu. Use senses beyond the visual. Absorb, do not emit. And bring to a forefront in your mind the will to accept.
I paused at the door, staring into the darkness, unfamiliar sounds leaking through the crack, and I started to question my plan. What the heck kind of sermon was this?
You’ve come this far, said Paige. Might as well go through with it. Don’t worry. I’ll be here.
I slipped into the room.
I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the gloom, but I could barely see. Diraxi voices bounced around my head, different streams of thought coming at once, as if multiple Diraxi were shouting and whispering and jabbering at me simultaneously.
The portrait of the cosmos stretches into infinity. Why must we accept an infinitesimal slice? Yearning is acceptance of the One Truth.
Using my hands, I fumbled forward until I found a seat. I took advantage of everything it had to offer, plopping myself into its cool embrace. Darkness swirled around me, sinking into the space between my eyelids, but there was a hint of light as well. No burning sun, just pale, floating specks.
Thought is concrete. A measure of the mind. Electrical pulses, transferred by neurons. All life, not merely human, or Diraxi, functions in such a manner.
Sounds rippled through the air, incoherent, indistinct, barely more than background noise. A slow, burning star—the voice of the cosmos, translated from electromagnetic impulses to pressure waves for human ears. Mist floated on my tongue, and my nose detected a clean, rich scent that reminded me of apples and rain.
Differences in composition, mental and physical, do not impede the metaphysical. They merely interfere with the process. The One Truth remains. The journey remains. The Ascension.
Something furry and foreign tickled my gut. I suppressed the urge to scream. The Dirax had instructed me to absorb, not emit. I think screams were included. But my gut defiantly felt odd. Was I hu
ngry? The bear claws hadn’t travelled through my esophagus that long ago.
The intensity of light in the room shifted, shocking my system. I floated in my chair, alone, before a blazing white sun as blobby neurons floated around me.
Good effects, I thought. I can’t even see the rest of the room. Or the floor. Or anyone else for that matter.
I expected a snarky response from Paige but received precisely nothing. The smell of apples and rain intensified—which was odd, because I was floating in space—and I suppressed a sudden urge to vomit. Maybe the bear claws had been a bad idea.
I licked my lips, which felt exceedingly dry. Then I realized my lips didn’t exist. Neither did my body.
Odd. Very odd, indeed, I thought.
I floated through the heart of the cosmos, the universe around me darkening as I contemplated where my lips had gone.
19
I wriggled my lips. They were back. So was my nose. The scent of apples and rain was gone, however. It had been replaced with something far less pleasant—urine and garbage, if I wasn’t mistaken. Not a particularly effective scent for converting people to a religion, I had to say. And I’d also acquired a blinding headache, one that pounded on the inside of my skull like a gorilla given free reign with a felt-covered mallet.
This is even worse than that weedache I got from Gerrold’s place, I thought.
Rich? Rich, is that you? Paige’s familiar voice partially displaced the gorilla’s drum solo.
“Hey. You’re back,” I said, the words slow and heavy on my tongue. “Where’d you go?”
Where’d I go? said Paige. Where the heck did you go?
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m at the Veesnu placeamabob. Chapel. Church. Whatever.”
You want to double check that math, sport?
I cracked an eyelid and immediately regretted it. Blinding light filled my field of vision—except it didn’t. The light was on the dim side. Diffuse, even. But it took me a moment to realize it. Apparently my brain still hadn’t adjusted from the misty blackness of the sermon room.
